


Angel & Dragon: the Delian Tomb

by Mountainheart



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Fantasy, Gen, Kidnapping, Original Universe, Rescue Missions, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24494614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountainheart/pseuds/Mountainheart
Summary: Rose McClelland's first adventure outside of her home. She meets a mysterious figure with literal stars in her eyes, and they team up to rescue a young girl from goblins.
Kudos: 1





	Angel & Dragon: the Delian Tomb

It is a long, slow night in the Fleeing Legion tavern in the city of Hakori, with only half a dozen patrons occupying the entire bar. Something in the air tonight fills the city’s inhabitants with an odd sense of foreboding, a warning that one ought to stay in their home. The wise heed these warnings, for they are known to come from the Saints, and are rarely wrong. Those lacking in sense, on the other hand…  
“Come on, man! Why won’t you serve me? You got a problem with Orcs or something?” A young half-Orc girl accuses.  
“Kid, I’m an Orc,” the bartender responds wearily, “and I’m not serving you because you’re clearly no older than thirteen. I’m sure if I was a Dwarf or something you could convince me that you’re older than you are, they’re pretty stupid.”  
“Fuck you, Henry!” a drunk-off-his-ass Dwarf shouts from the other side of the bar.  
“Fuck you too, Frank, you’ve heard and probably said worse!” Henry yells back. “Look, I can get you water, food, we’ve got a bit of stew left, but you can forget about alcohol.”  
“Ugh, fine.” the young half-Orc grumbles.  
Henry sighs, glad to be done with the argument. “What’s your name, kid?” he asks, in an admittedly awkward attempt to be friendly. He doesn’t see too many Orcs here in the city, and would rather not fight with his fellows when he sees them. They might be able to tell him stuff about what the tribes are up to.  
The young half-Orc glares up at him. “Rose.” She answers curtly.  
“Rose, eh? And what is that that you’re wearing, Tarlok fur? You must be from up north, right?”  
Rose glares at him, not responding.  
Once again, Henry sighs. He looks around, grabs a few empty tankards from the table and disappears into the back to wash them.  
A young server comes up to Rose from serving a pair of elves in the far corner of the bar, “What’ll you be having, ma’am? We’ve got ale, whiskey, a bit of wine if you’ve got the money for it.”  
Rose looks at the door that Henry disappeared into. She sighs. “Water, some stew if you have any left.” Rose responds.  
“Right away.” They say cheerfully.  
The bar is once again quiet. Looking around, Rose sees a couple of elves whispering sweet, drunken nothings into each other’s ears. She sees them start to get a little handsy and quickly turns her gaze away from the two of them. Someone should probably tell Henry about them. On the opposite side of the bar she sees an odd figure: a short, human-looking woman reading from a massive tome that doesn’t seem like it’d belong anywhere but a library. Her whole body is covered by her clothes, including her hands and most of her face, which is obscured by a worn-looking red scarf that conceals everything but her eyes. The woman notices Rose staring at her, locks eyes with her and for a moment, Rose swears she sees the night sky. Rose averts her gaze once again, looking instead at Frank, the drunk dwarf who had shouted at Henry before. Without Henry in the room, Frank suddenly appears very, very sober.  
The dwarf named Frank, a pale-skinned gentleman with red hair and a five o’clock shadow, gets up from his seat and approaches Rose. Rose notices, now that Frank is standing up, that he’s considerably better-dressed than anyone else in the bar, in what appears to be a fine-woven tunic with gold trim. He stands above Rose, leans over and says “So, Rose, huh? What the fuck is a northern shitheel doing in Hakori?”  
“Fuck off, Fred, or whatever your name is. You smell like you’ve spent all your soap money on cheap drink.”  
Frank sighs, smiling a little at the barb, “Y’know, I’m getting real tired of being told to fuck off. Especially by idiot bartenders with no respect for the fallen, and kids.”  
Rose glares up at Frank, seeing the hate directed towards her, but not quite able to pick out what he intends to do about it.  
“When people like me ask questions, little one, people like you fucking answer them. Why are you in Hakori?”  
“I don’t owe you an answer for any goddamn thing.” Rose says, turning away from Frank to take a sip of her water, which appeared to have arrived without her noticing. Clearly the young server had tried to get away from this as quickly as they could. Frank kicks Rose’s table over, and Rose stands up to face him, grabbing him by his lapels.  
“You’re gonna want to take your disgusting whiskey breath and go back to your chair before I knock you on your ass.”  
“A threat, huh? I was hoping you’d say that. Kid.” Frank grins. Rose is too late to notice the dagger in Frank’s hand fly towards her stomach.  
A flash of steel, a spray of blood, and Rose finds herself on the ground. She comes to and sees Frank’s dagger lying on the floor, right next to his severed hand. Looking up, Rose can see the black-eyed woman in the headscarf standing next to them, one of two blades drawn from its sheath. Frank clutches his wrist, screaming in agony and horror. He looks at the woman.  
“You are dead! You’re fucking dead, you bitch! I’m gonna take both of your heads and use them as goddamn soup bowls for what you did! You have no idea the kind of enemy you two have made today, you hear me?!” Frank storms out of the Fleeing Legion, screaming in rage and leaving a trail of blood in his wake.  
Henry bursts through the door from the back room, helping Rose up to his feet “Rose are you okay?! What happened?!”  
“Frank was a little angrier than we might have guessed. He tried to stab me, but she cut off his hand before he could do anything.” Rose gestures toward the woman, who was wiping her blade on her pant leg and sheathing it.  
“Damn!” Henry yells upon seeing the severed hand on the ground. “I’m so sorry, Rose. I heard rumors about him, but usually he’s not so bold, at least not while I’m around. I never should have left you alone with him.”  
“It’s alright, Henry, no harm no foul. After all, I wasn’t actually alone, right?”  
“I suppose that’s true.” Henry says, scratching the back of his head. He turns to face the woman in the headscarf and offers his hand. “Thanks for saving Rose, I didn’t realize how violent Frank was, like I said he usually doesn’t act that way when I’m around.” The woman shakes his hand. “Is there anything I can get you? I think you’ve earned at least a round on the house.”  
She points to her table, and her empty tankard. “Ale.” She says, her voice rough and her speech slurred.  
“Coming right up!” Henry says grabbing her tankard and quickly filling it right back up as high as he can manage it. “Here you are!” He announces, “If there’s anything else you need please don’t hesitate to ask.”  
The woman returns to her seat with the drink, and once again starts reading her book. Henry, obviously feeling a little high-strung, puts the table back up and starts cleaning up the spilled stew, not wanting to leave again for fear that Frank might come back.  
Rose sidles over to the chair next to the woman in the headscarf. “I’m Rose.” She says offering her hand.  
“Yeah, I heard.” The woman responds, not looking up from her book. “You should really be more careful. Folks around here tend to have more steel than sense.”  
“Yeah, I’m starting to get that feeling from people.” Rose laughs. “What are you reading?”  
“None of your business, kid.” Rose flinches a little bit at being called “kid” again. “Sorry. Look, Rose, I’m glad that you like me now or whatever, but I’m really not in the mood to talk. Keep chatting with Henry and who knows? He might serve you that precious alcohol you were so passionate about earlier.”  
“Not gonna happen!” Henry interjects, not looking up from his work.  
Rose slumps her shoulders a bit, embarrassed about the scene she made earlier. “Well, thanks for saving me.” She says, turning away to head back to her table, a new bowl of stew sitting on it. She’s lost her appetite.  
After a long pause the woman looks up at her. “My name is Asariel.” She says. “And the thing I’m reading is an historical text my... former lieutenant gave me. A quick history about the Vrumanir. I guess if I’m going to be the new leader of a mercenary company I should know about what I’m inheriting, even if I’m only leading myself for right now. That answer your question?”  
“That looks awfully big for something that’s supposed to be a quick summary.” Rose says, realizing just how big the tome is. “That’s gotta be a least a couple thousand pages, right?”  
“More like twelve-hundred. And I mean, the Vrumanir are at least a few thousand years old, so it doesn’t really surprise me that their history gets pretty long-winded. Not that this Digby fella seems like he would ever make an effort to be concise in general.”  
“So the Vrumanir are really old?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“And they’re like, pretty important and knowledgeable?”  
“I mean, kinda.”  
“...you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the Northolders, would you?”  
“Who are-”  
The door to the Fleeing Legion slams open and a balding man with a long beard and an apron stumbles in, leaning against the door frame, holding a bloody hammer in one hand and clutching a wound in his side with the other. “They got Bess!” He cries. “They got my girl!”  
“Easy Brogden,” Henry says, taking the blacksmith by the shoulder and easing him into a chair, “what exactly happened? Who took Bess?”  
“Goblins! It was damn gobins, I tell ya! We were walking home from the shop not but five minutes ago and suddenly we were being ambushed in some alley by little green men! I managed to get a few good hits in but there were too many and they took Bess!”  
“I’m so sorry, Brogden.” Henry consoles poorly.  
Asariel gets up from her chair and walks over to Brogden and Henry.  
“I’ll summon the Guard,” Henry offers, “they should be able to get your daughter back.”  
“Don’t bother, the new blood couldn’t handle a stray dog, too reliant on the Consultants these days.”  
“Maybe so, but who else are we going to find at this time of night?”  
At this point Asariel is standing directly over Brogden, straight and tall with her dual blades on full display. Brogden looks up at her.  
“You’re some kind of warrior?”  
“... yes.” Asariel thought the swords would be a dead giveaway.  
“Please, I’m begging you, save my daughter from those fiends. I don’t have much money, but I can give you fifty. Please, she’s all I have in the world I promise-”  
“A hundred gold.”  
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fair-sized bag of gold. “This is fifty, it’s all I have right now, but I-I can get you more I promise.”  
Asariel takes the bag from the wounded blacksmith. “Be sure that you do. I’ll save your kid, but you need to sign this for me first.” She hands him a sheet of paper from her bag, a full pre-written contract written just for this purpose, and a quill. “Just to keep us honest.”  
“I-I don’t have any ink.” Brogden stammers.  
“You don’t need any. Just touch pen to paper, and the job will be done.”  
Brogden takes the quill, and as he touches it to the paper some of the blood from his wound flows up his side and along his arm onto the quill, offering a steady supply of ink. It doesn’t seem to hurt Brogden, in fact he doesn’t even seem to notice it. At least, not until he looks down at his wrist. The old blacksmith screams in shock at the sight of his own blood flowing onto the tip of the quill, and immediately drops it and the Contract.  
She takes the contract from him, clearly not concerned with having his full name on the paper. She mutters a small incantation, and the paper bursts into bright purple flame, and disappears.  
“What did you just do to me?”  
“I had you sign a Contract. You’ll pay the agreed upon amount and in return I’ll do what you ask.”  
“And if I don’t pay the other fifty?”  
“You will. You can fight it, just like you can fight the instinct not to jump off a bridge.” Asariel leans forward. “And if you do try and stiff me on it, you’ll wish you had jumped.”  
Brogden goes from breathing a sigh of relief to once again trembling in fear. “...are you a devil?”  
“Not exactly. But we’re in the same business.”  
Asariel goes and grabs her book and her bag from the table. “Keep my tab open, Henry, and be sure to have some stew ready for me. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”  
“And if you die?” Henry ponders, his attitude towards the mercenary now soured at seeing her shake down his friend.  
“Then you can have the rest of my ale.” She tosses three silver onto the counter. “On me.”  
She walks toward the door. “Brogden, where was your daughter taken? Seems like the best lead we’ve got for figuring out where they went.”  
“Frigdis Alley, between Boris Ores and the Tenements. Be careful, though, that’s Simdi’s territory. They and their crew are a bit hostile to any non-elf in their territory carrying a weapon.”  
“Simdi Calamachus?”  
“You know them?”  
She snorts “Yeah. I know them. I’m not worried. I’ll be back soon.”  
“Don’t die.”  
“I probably won’t. And if I do, I’ll make sure Bess can step over my corpse on her way home. After all, the Contracts go both ways.”  
Asariel exits the bar. After just a moment, Rose gets up and follows her out the door.  
“What the hell was that?!” she yells at Asariel, walking quickly to catch up to her.  
“What do you mean? I said I would save his kid for money, asked him to pay a certain amount, and now we have it in writing that we’ll both do just that.”  
“You used some kind of weird magic and exploited a scared, wounded man’s desperation to make him give you more money than he had.”  
“And?”  
“And I thought you were better than that!”  
“I’m a mercenary, Rose, I said that already.”  
“So what? You just treat everyone around you like walking sacks of gold? Am I gonna find myself magically compelled to pay you for your ‘service’ too?”  
She sighs in exasperation. “That’s different. You were about to be assaulted by some guy who likes to pick on people he sees as beneath him, right in front of me. Brogden was asking me to actively risk my life to fight an interplanetary force of well-trained warriors and religious zealots to save someone I’ve never met. A hundred gold is perfectly fair. And we never said anything about when he’d pay. For all I know, he’ll be paying off that hundred gold for the rest of his life.”  
“It was cruel and unfair.”  
“Most things are. At least I keep my promises. Besides, it’s not like not paying will actually do anything.”  
“What?”  
“I was bullshitting, Rose, it was just a piece of paper.” Asariel lies. “I’m not a registered guildmaster so I have no legal authority, and I wouldn’t make someone sell their soul to me or some shit, even if I was actually able to.”  
“But.. but it burst into flame and disappeared!”  
“There are a lot of flammable objects Rose, paper being one of them. And you can make anything look like anything if you’ve got the right chemicals.”  
“And the quill?”  
“...It was a magic quill. Very convenient when you’re writing, if a bit painful sometimes. But besides its unconventional source of ink, it doesn’t actually do anything other than scare people who don’t know any better.”  
“...huh.” Rose almost considers this obvious bullshit for a moment. “Well… it was still shitty to lie, and to make him pay you more than he had.”  
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Rose. Fifty gold doesn’t go that far, and it sure as hell wasn’t enough for me to risk my life.”  
They continue walking for a minute, in silence. The mercenary feels guilty lying to Rose, but it’s better that she doesn’t know about the power of the Contracts right at that moment. She seemed like the type to blab to churchgoers about that sort of thing. Besides, she just inherited these powers from the Vrumanir, and doesn’t understand them all that well herself. Better that no one know, until she does. It’s definitely not that she actually cares what the kid thinks of her, no, that’s not it at all.  
“You gonna head back to the bar? It’s about to get dangerous, I just saw a sign over there that says ‘Simdi’ so we’re now squarely in a place we’re not supposed to be.”  
“No. You’re an asshole, but I’m not gonna let you get killed on your own. At the very least I can now safely say that I don’t owe you anything.”  
“You already don’t, but alright.”  
They continue to walk down the street, still mostly empty. A small patrol of city guards walks through the square, making eyes with the two of them before hurrying on their way at a much quicker pace. One of the rookies in the patrol, a half-elf with sandy-blond hair and a thin moustache, runs off in a different direction when he sees them.  
After about fifteen minutes of walking, they come across the Tenements, a series of small buildings that serve as housing for poor residents and newcomers to the city, and a building next to it with the symbol of a pickaxe and the name “Frigdis” on a small wooden sign. Right where they need to be.  
They pass into the alley stretching between the two buildings, coming upon two small pools of green blood in the middle of the alley, no doubt from Brogden and one of the goblins that was hit. A small trail leads down the alley in the other direction, but thins out before reaching the end. Asariel and Rose crouch down to examine the pool of blood from which the trail originates. Rose dips her fingers in the blood and brings them to her lips. She notices the tingle of something as it touches her tongue and looks to see glittering flecks of light sparkling in the blood, the color of topaz, the sign of fresh Summoning. “Goblins, certainly, and new arrivals at that.”  
“You’ve dealt with them before?” Asariel asks.  
“Frequently. They come in from off-planet, kidnap someone and ritually sacrifice them at a holy site to sanctify it. Or at least they try to. Folk in the north look out for each other, generally, or at least our holy sites, so the Goblins tend to find more than they bargained for. What about you? You strike me as having a fair bit of experience.”  
“In my early days certainly. Once I started commanding larger forces I started seeing less and less of them. These are scouting parties, so it makes sense they’d be able to avoid us. Most of my experience is found dealing with their big brothers.”  
“You don’t mean...”  
“Hobgoblins. Toughest fuckers you’ll ever cross blades with. I’ve lost a lot of comrades at the end of a Hobgoblin’s sword.”  
“Brogden said the ones who attacked him and his daughter were small. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”  
“A scouting party. Beam onto the planet, sacrifice a non-goblin, sanctify a holy site, then bam! Instant fucking army.”  
“Do you think they’d be able to take over Hakori? I know that Hobgoblins can be nasty, but this city is called the Eye of the Storm for a reason.”  
“I don’t know. It’d be a real fight, but between the Mages College and Fort Hakon, they might be able to hold out in the end. One thing I know for sure, though, is that if this ritual they’re performing succeeds, a lot of people are gonna die.”  
“We’d better hurry then. How long does it usually take?”  
“Could take an hour, could take a day, it all sort of depends.”  
“On what?”  
“How desperate they are, and how big of an army they plan to summon. Been about fifteen minutes at this point, if they finished now they’d probably have about twenty soldiers in total.”  
“Let’s go, then.”  
“Gladly.”  
“Well well well, look who we have here.” A voice from the end of the street rings out. The pair stand up to find themselves face to face with a dozen elves armed with finely-crafted weapons now fallen into disrepair. Behind them stands a member of the city guard, the half-elf they saw run off before. Their leader, a white-haired elf with an eyepatch, steps forward.  
“Seems like we’ve got ourselves a couple of tough-looking bastards who think they get to stomp around wherever they damn well please. This is your one and only chance: leave all your weapons, your belongings, everything, and return to where you came from, or we’ll kill you. That sound like a plan?”  
“Please just let us pass, we’re not here to fight we just want to-” Asariel puts a hand up to silence Rose, a signal she reluctantly obeys.  
The warrior draws one of her swords, and plants the tip of it into the stone pavement. For a moment, there is no response from the elves but their incredulous stares. Then Simdi smirks. “Are you prepared to pay with your life?” The elven warrior asks. Asariel does not respond. “For a life, then.” Simdi confirms, grinning with excitement. They draw a rapier, a weapon finer than most, but worn away and notched by centuries of use, and plants the tip into the pavement of the stone alleyway. Slowly, with deliberate and precise steps, the pair drag their blades across the stone, circling each other in a fluid, familiar motion until a small, white ring is carved into the street they stand in. For an instant, they say and do nothing, standing with one foot in the ring, and one foot out. Then, Simdi charges forward, their blade dulled somewhat by the stone, but sharp enough to kill even now.  
Asariel smacks their sword away from her with the blunt end of her own blade, and she pulls it back to lunge at Simdi in turn. They block her blow, and a flurry of movements too fast for young Rose to keep track of are traded back and forth as the two warriors dance across their self-made battlefield.  
Asariel pushes Simdi toward their end of the ring with a focused aggression, blocking most of Simdi’s attacks but still leaving herself open to the smaller strikes they’re able to get in. The pair reach the other end of the ring, and she takes a wide swing at their neck, a blow they avoid with ease as they duck their head, meeting a cheap blow to the bridge of their nose from the butt of Asariel’s second blade. She brings down the handle of her first, slamming the butt of it into the back of Simdi’s head as they struggle to regain composure. She kicks them to the ground outside of the ring, getting the tip of her sword under Simdi’s crossguard and sending their blade flying into the wall next to them. A few of the younger elves step forward to intervene, hoping to save their leader. Simdi waves them off. “Stop. I agreed to a duel to the death, and I lost. I’m sorry.” Simdi looks back at the warrior in the headscarf. “Well? You won. Go ahead, finish it.”  
Asariel holds her blade to their throat, then sheathes it. “Is this what the Blade of the Seventh Tower has been reduced to? Mugging people in an alley? No wonder you’re so quick to accept death.” She walks past them to follow the trail of blood.  
“Throwing stones in a glass house, Asariel? That doesn’t seem like you.”  
Asariel stops, and then turns to look at Simdi.  
“Yeah, I know who you are. I’d recognize your voice from a mile away, but more than that you’re the only one I know who ever beat me in a duel to the death, and certainly the only one I’ve known who spared me. You can lose your wings, hide away in some far-off corner of the world, and abandon everything people know you for, but you can’t escape yourself, angel. The Lion of the Purple Rose, fighting her rival once again.”  
“You were never my rival, Simdi. Just one person who didn’t like losing. That’s why I didn’t kill you, nothing good would come of it.”  
“What the hell happened to you? Me I get, with the Towers gone and everything I’ve sworn to protect under the thumb of some bandit king, I’ve understandably lost some of my self-respect, but you? Height of your power, commanding one of the finest armies this side of the fucking Draconus, the Angel of Saint Hakon and you turn tail and run? For what? You dishonored your troops, you dishonored your god, you dishonored yourself and lost everything, all because you thought you might lose?! Was this a new development or did I just not notice that you were always a fucking coward!”  
Asariel draws her sword once again and places its edge against their throat. “Are you trying to die, Sim?! Is that what this is all about?! Huh?!”  
“Just do it, Az, I know you always thought I was annoying. Now you don’t have your precious Warrior Saint to tell you not to, so why not? Just kill me.”  
She freezes for a moment.  
“Please.”  
She sheathes her sword and just looks at them.  
“Look at me, Az. No Tower, no army, just a sad little pocket of the world I pretend I own. I asked them to let me pass,” Simdi gestures toward his soldiers, relaxed somewhat now that Asariel’s sword is in its sheath “I begged them to help me perform a Rite of Satisfaction, but they told me I couldn’t, that I was motivated by despair, not being ‘satisfied with the long life I’ve lived’. Who cares?! Six thousand years of serving with distinction and I’m stuck in a hole I can’t climb out of! You of all people in the entire fucking world should know what that’s like, right? Wouldn’t you want to just leave it all behind and let the saints sort you out?”  
“I did.”  
“So what stopped you?”  
“Goblins.”  
“...What?”  
“Goblins, Simdi. That’s why I’m here. They kidnapped a blacksmith’s daughter, and are planning to sacrifice her to summon an army. If they succeed, a lot of people will die.”  
“...I see.”  
“Will you help me?”  
“With what?”  
“Help me find them, Simdi. They’re looking to desecrate a holy site of some kind, do you know of one that’s nearby? Anything, a temple, a shrine, a tomb?”  
“Uh… uh… there’s a cemetery nearby with a bunch of knights buried there, probably the biggest holy place for at least a mile. I can show you where it is.”  
Simdi stands up, regaining their composure with their new purpose. They and their troops lead the angel and half-orc through the streets of their territory until they come upon a small field, probably the largest expanse of uninhabited land for miles, occupied by an uncountable number of graves. In the distance, a pair of little green men with big floppy ears and dour expressions guard the entrance of a large burial vault, holding bows with daggers at their hips.  
“Looks like this is where you’ll find your mark, As. You sure you don’t need a little more help? Even a small scouting party is quite a fight for two people. For old times sake at the very least?”  
“I appreciate it, Simdi, but we need the element of surprise, so you should probably head that way. Thank you.”  
The old elf gives an odd look to their old rival for a moment, then turns to walk away.  
“And Simdi?”  
They turn around.  
“You’ve got a good group of folks here. They saw you get your ass handed to you and literally beg for death and they’re still willing to follow you into battle. It can be hard to find something to live for in yourself, especially in these kinds of situations, but if they’re really all you have, let it be them.”  
Simdi looks a little taken aback by this. “I-I’ll think about it. Thanks, As. Good luck.”  
With that, the elves turn and head back the way they came. “And Asariel?” Simdi calls before following their troops. “Don’t die.” Rose and Asariel crouch down and begin making their way through the field, hiding behind headstones and nimbly dodging the tired eyes of the goblins standing guard. When they get fairly close, Asariel and Rose carefully drop into an empty grave, and Asariel puts a hand up to motion for Rose to stay put. She tries to argue, but the mercenary’s gone in an instant, leaving Rose on her own to hide within an empty grave. She climbs up a bit to try and see what she’s doing, and sees her nimbly dodging and weaving across the headstones with ease. Rose thought she was moving like the Red Fox, but watching Asariel, she realizes that her relatively slow, uncertain pace may have been holding the old warrior back, and she stares in awe as she manages to snake around to the side of the burial chamber without making a sound, like a shadow given leave to walk above the ground. Watching her, Rose finds herself distracted and loses her footing, falling back into the empty grave with a loud thud. Asariel swears under her breath as the guards jump at the sudden noise, and they both walk toward the grave Rose was hiding in. Panicking, Rose grabs the biggest rock she can find and readies herself to throw it at whatever pokes its head into the empty grave.  
A few seconds pass as the footsteps of the goblins grow louder and louder as they draw near. Rose tenses, and as soon as the first goblin peers over into the grave, Rose closes her eyes and throws the rock as hard as she can. In an instant, she hears a sickening crunch and subsequent thump of the goblin’s body falling into the grave next to her, followed by the sound of “Tokaz!” as the other goblin pulls her bow back to fire at Rose. The young half-orc raises her hands to shield herself from the arrow, but hears instead the familiar sound of Asariel’s blade slicing through the goblin’s head. Rose lowers her hands to see Asariel extending a hand to help her out of the grave. She takes her hand and Asariel lifts her out of the grave. She mutters a small “Thank you...” glances down at the goblin with a small rock embedded in his head, the goblin she killed, and immediately turns and throws up into the grave she had just climbed out of.  
“What’s wrong, Rose? It wasn’t the stew, was it? I thought it might’ve tasted funny...”  
Rose finishes emptying her stomach and looks back at her, unaware of the utter horror her eyes betray.  
“...you’ve never killed anyone before, have you?” Asariel asks.  
“...no.”  
Asariel pauses for a moment, truly taking in the fact that Rose is, indeed, thirteen years old just like Henry said.  
“B-but how could that be? You just told me about fighting goblins before.”  
“Those are just the stories I was told. They never let me go on those missions with them, I wasn’t old enough.”  
“Well I know you’re young, but you’re an obligate carnivore and you grew up in the Northern Wilds, right? Those are hunter-gatherer societies, surely you must have at least killed animals for their meat before?”  
“I mean here and there, sure, but that was for survival. We needed that meat to live. This feels… different.”  
“Well… it’s not.” She justifies, maybe a little louder than it needed to be. “You needed to kill those animals and eat the meat from them to survive and then you needed to kill the goblin to survive because she was going to shoot you. It’s the same thing!”  
“Keep your voice down!” Rose hisses. “Look, you’re probably right, and I’m sorry for messing up your plan. It’s just… that goblin shouted the word ‘Tokaz’, I think it was her friend’s name. Rabbits don’t usually do that.”  
“Well, we can think about that later. Are you coming?” She asks, pushing her feelings of guilt and uncertainty to the back of her mind. “Last chance to turn back.”  
Rose pauses for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming. All for the greater good, right?”  
“... Right.”  
Rose grabs a dagger off the goblin’s body, trying her best to not look at her as she does, and slowly, the two make their way down the steps of what no longer appears to be a burial chamber. Faint chanting begins to fill their ears, growing louder as Rose and Asariel step further into the chamber. They turn the corner to find an offering room with a large, raised offering bowl sitting on a stone dais carved with swords wrapped in roses, the symbol of a forgotten Saint. Sitting around the bowl are four goblins, one sharpening their blade while one nurses a small head wound and the other two play some kind of card game. Almost immediately, the goblin sharpening their sword looks up and notices Asariel and Rose standing at the entrance of the offering room. They bark an order and point at the pair, and immediately the four goblins charge at them.  
Without a moment’s hesitation Asariel charges forward to meet their assault, with Rose following not too far behind. The commander of the Vrumanir slices through the neck of the injured goblin with a wide swing from her right blade, burying her left into the chest of another, pulling both out just in time to catch a blow from the third between the two swords. Rose runs past the two combatants’ struggle to face number four, attempting a hesitant swing with her dagger down toward the goblin leader, who sidesteps the blow with ease and leaps forward with a confident attack. Rose catches the goblin’s wrist just before they sink their blade into her eye. The goblin drops their dagger, quickly catching it with their free hand and in a flash, Rose sinks her dagger into the goblin’s heart, watching the life drain from their eyes in a slow trickle flowing down her arm.  
Asariel kicks her pint-sized opponent into a wall with a sickening  
, leaping forward and plunging both swords into his stomach before he can get up.  
She pulls the swords from his chest and wipes them both on her pant legs. As she does, she notices a small bas relief on the wall of the offering room, of a group of noble knights charging towards an onslaught of villains and monsters. It was naive, like something from a storybook. She turned to look at Rose, victorious once again, staring at a piece of ancient script on the adjacent wall, barely seeming to notice it’s there.  
“Can you read that?” She asks, walking over to stand next to him.The girl breaks out of her thousand-yard-stare and begins to actually examine it.  
“It looks like it might be Ancient Icaran, so yeah, I think so.”  
“What does it say?” She wonders, her curiosity piqued.  
“It says ‘To serve Law, to battle Chaos, and to preserve the secrets of the Delian Lore’. An oath, it sounds like, to the order that’s buried here.”  
“How do you know Ancient Icaran?” Asariel asks. “Didn’t think the Northern Wilds got too many books up there.”  
“There are some, if you know where to look.” Rose says, clearly wanting to leave it at that. “Why did Simdi call you the Lion of the Purple Rose?”  
“It was my title, long ago. The Purple Rose was a mighty army, all of them devoted followers of Saint Hakon, patron of the Way. And I became their leader, their Lion who charged into battle without fear.”  
“What happened to them?”  
“I did. There was a bandit king in Kadun, the same one that destroyed the Seventh Tower and left Simdi in the state they’re in, and the Purple Rose crusaded against them. We expected bandits, aggressive and undisciplined, a danger only to those without the Way to guide them. There were ten-thousand of them, all skilled individually and led with shrewd tactics. We couldn’t win, so I ordered a retreat, breaking an oath of valor in the process. I humiliated and dishonored the very people I swore on my life to lead with courage, and in return I was stripped of nearly all the power I once had.”  
“Is that why you turned to whatever gave you that contract?”  
“You saw through it, huh?”  
“You’re a bad liar. And I still don’t understand why you bothered lying in the first place.”  
“I… didn’t want you to think less of me.”  
Rose is surprised at her frankness, and even more so by the fact that Asariel cares what she thinks of her?  
“Well… I did. But I’ve seen how you act most of the time, and I’m starting to realize that your inopportune haggling was the exception rather than the rule. I think you’re a good person, for the most part, and if you’re in league with some kind of demon or something, it’s probably for a good reason.”  
There’s a long pause.  
“Rose,” Asariel states “I think you should go back.”  
“...what? No!”  
“I mean it, Rose. There are a dozen goblins in that room at least, all of them just as dangerous as the ones we fought before if not more so. I’m not gonna bring a kid into that kind of fight, I’d rather lose everything all over again than do that.”  
“I’m not just some kid, you asshole! I’m Rose goddamn McClelland, the Red Fox’s champion!”  
“...Rose, I don’t know what that means.”  
“I’m the last of the Northolders, and I’ve been chosen to recover the lost sword Blackfire, rebuild the greatest order of warriors the Northern Wilds have ever seen and save my homeland, and I’m not gonna let anyone tell me that I don’t have what it takes!” Rose presses on as the chanting grows louder, not noticing the pressure plate until she hears a small 

A blade descends from the ceiling, swinging towards Rose too quickly for her to react. Asariel grabs her by the back of her coat and pulls her away as hard as she can, sending them both tumbling to the ground. “That was way too close,” Asariel says, rising to her feet “Rose, you have to be more careful next ti-'' She looks down and sees Rose clutching a large, deep cut across her chest, struggling for air.  
“Oh my gods! Rose!” She cries, crouching down and cradling her friend. Asariel’s breathing tightens and tears start to stream down her face as she unwraps one of her hands and holds it over the wound. Her hands begin to take on a dull glow with a warm color like sunlight streaming through a thin curtain. She mutters a desperate, sobbing prayer to Saint Hakon, scrambling for something, any kind of connection she has left to the god who forsook her. There is no answer, and with all of her other options exhausted, she draws on the faintest source of divinity she has, the only one left to her: herself. All of her concentration and energy goes into this act of magic, and as she pours everything she is into Rose’s wound, it begins to close slowly.  
After several minutes of energy-sapping healing magic, Asariel is unable to continue and collapses to the floor right next to Rose. The bleeding has stopped, and Rose bolts upright, wincing in pain from the wound that hasn’t finished healing. She leans Asariel against the stone dais and takes a small waterskin from her belt. She presses it to Asariel’s lips and she drinks from it like it’s the first drink of water she’s had in days. “Rose,” She rasps between the gulps “You have to go.”  
Tears begin to stream down Rose’s face.  
“Go back to the tavern, back to your life. You’re some kind of champion, right? Here to save your homeland? You can’t do that if you’re down here with a dagger in your chest, can you?”  
“Asariel, please-”  
“I promised Brogden I’d get his daughter back home, even if it kills me. You didn’t promise anyone you’d do this, you don’t owe them anything, and I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed on my behalf. Your mission is too important. Now go!”  
Rose stares at her for a moment, wanting to say anything to her, to argue. But she knows she’s in no condition to fight, and that even if Asariel was wrong, there was nothing Rose could say to convince her. She stands up slowly, and she limps away, choking back a sob. Asariel lays where she is for a while, listening to the growing sound of chanting. If this ritual succeeds… she’d prefer not to think about it. After laying there for some time, she finally gathers the strength to stand, leaning on her swords to do so, and walks slowly into the Tomb of the Delian Order.  
The chanting of the goblins, loud in her ears, becomes deafening as she swings open the door. There are dozens of them gathered around the small table where Bess lays tied up, her screams falling silent thanks to a small Quiet rune laying next to her head. All heads turn to look at Asariel, and they draw their weapons.  
After everything Asariel gave of herself to save Rose, she stands no chance against this many goblins. Not even at her full strength could she have beaten them. If she were still a knight, maybe… no. No time for that now. They start walking towards her slowly, a few still chanting the words in their language. Come on, there has to be something she can do to save the city, to save the girl. A taller goblinoid with crimson eyes steps in front, holding a jagged sword, walking towards the half-angel with his back straight. A hobgoblin. He tries to look annoyed at her intrusion, but had clearly gotten bored with the proceedings, and was excited to see her. That’s it!  
Asariel draws her right blade, but before the goblins can charge in to kill her, she plants the sword’s tip into the stone of the tomb. The goblin footsoldiers stop for a moment, most of them confused at her actions. But the hobgoblin, their leader, grins with anticipation. He plants his own blade into the floor, mirroring her stance, but he also whispers a small incantation under his breath, fire sprouting from the tip of his blade in response and they begin to circle each other, the fire spreading to wherever the hobgoblin drags his sword. The goblins all spread out, trying to get a good angle to watch the duel. The combatants each take the other’s place in the room now, and they both stand with one foot in the ring, and one out.  
Then Asariel draws her other blade, turns and stabs the two goblins directly behind her, and runs for the table. A risky gamble, but they’d made the mistake of leaving the girl unguarded. Asariel hacks and slashes with everything she has left within her, carving a path of blood through the goblin ranks, and taking quite a few wounds herself in the process.  
As soon as she reaches the table, Asariel cuts Bess’s bindings. “Here, hold this.” Asariel says, handing one of her blades to the young girl. The young girl takes the blade from the woman, and it feels awkward in her hands. Asariel, now down a sword, turns to face the oncoming horde of goblins.  
Making herself as large a target as possible, Asariel cuts down every foe before her, taking care not to give in to the panicked frenzy that threatened to spill over her. It would probably keep her alive long enough to slash her way through the hoard and out the door, but she’d leave the girl behind in the process. No, if she was leaving, it would be with Bess or not at all. One of the goblins tries to get Asariel in the stomach, and the warrior makes the mistake of blocking the blow, leaving room for another goblin to come up from behind to try and get Bess. She screams as the tiny soldier pulls back to slice through her, and then closes her eyes and plunges the sword into his chest. Asariel kicks the goblin she’s facing as hard as she can, sending him flying out the door and causing his buddies to dive out of the way.  
Asariel grabs Bess by the arm and gently shoves her towards the doorway. “Don’t stop! I’m right behind you!” The holy warrior yells. Bess sprints for the door, with Asariel running interference and meeting the blows of the few goblins who are able to get to them in time. “Keep going! We’re almost there!” Asariel yells encouragingly to the young girl. The hobgoblin grabs Bess by the wrist and she stabs him in the side, hurting him just enough for him to let go of her and escape. They reach the doorway, and Bess runs through.  
Asariel slams the door shut behind the girl.  
She turns to face the goblins, their faces a mask of collective rage. As they walk towards her, their pace picking up as they realize just how much this masked warrior had done to their plans, Asariel uses her last trick. Summoning every last ounce of magical energy and sheer physical might she has left and concentrating it into her breath, Asariel roars with all her might, sending a shockwave of force into the crowd. All at once they are dispersed, the ones that aren’t flung into the wall ducking low to the ground and covering their ears as best they can. Not as impressive as her days in the Purple Rose, but she’s glad to see she’s still got it. The only one unaffected is the hobgoblin, standing tall as ever and never breaking his stride towards her once. She raises her blade to meet his, barely able to lift it. He looks at her a moment, and then quickly knocks the blade out of her hands. Before she can react he stabs her in the stomach, and Asariel falls onto her back as the sword is pulled away.  
As she lays there, Asariel feels nothing but relief as she realizes that the girl, and the city, are now safe, because of something she did. Maybe she wasn’t as down and out as she thought? Who knows? Doesn’t matter now.  
The hobgoblin looks down at her, realizing she isn’t dead. He raises his sword to make a clean slice through her neck, finishing her off quickly. Asariel closes her eyes and awaits the end, only to hear a barely-audible  
,  
and the sound of clattering metal next to her ear as the door slams open. She opens her eyes to find an arrow sticking out of the hobgoblin’s chest, falling to his knees and getting finished off by a familiar elven sword. “Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I, angel?” Simdi teases as the Blades of the Seventh Tower stream into the room, followed by Rose and Bess, as well as a small contingent of City Guard. The sound of blades clashing and goblins dying fill her ears as Asariel fades from consciousness.

Asariel doesn’t know how long she spends in that state of unconsciousness. All she has to go on are some flashes of lucidity coming through.  
Rose stands in the doorway, speaking to what looks to be a captain of the City Guard. Beside her sits a person with a red moustache and wearing the robes of one of Saint Hakori's priests, reciting various prayers of healing.  
Brogden and Bess stand over her, the blacksmith setting a fair-sized bag of gold on her bedside table, muttering a reluctant “thank you”.  
Simdi is sitting in a small chair off to the side of her room. They tap their foot nervously until they see her eyes opening. “Guys, she’s stirring!” and then run out of the room as she fades once again.  
A man in familiar dark green armor stands at the foot of her bed, his visage strikingly clear in comparison to the blurry room he’s standing in. He stands straight and tall, holding his blade in a ceremonial fashion with the hilt against the shoulder opposite his sword arm, his blade resting diagonally against his torso. “You did well, my champion. I gave you nothing, and still you had everything you needed.” Hakon says. She flips him off, then fades away once again.  
The room is empty. She feels herself finally awake and sits up, the pain in her abdomen spiking as she does so. She leans against the headboard, looks around and sees a small plate of food, water, and a small herbal remedy, accompanied by a note that says “For You”. She picks up the plate and digs in. The meal’s a little stale, but still excellent, and the herbal remedy acts surprisingly fast, numbing the pain of her wounds significantly.  
The door to her room opens and in walks Henry, holding a small bucket of water in one hand and a bundle of towels in the other. When he sees her awake, he smiles. “You’re finally awake.” He says, relieved. “How are you feeling?”  
“Like I can fight the gods and win.”  
“Hah, ain’t that the truth. You certainly look like you’re up for a little godslaying.”  
“But for real, thanks for the food and medicine, Henry.”  
“Don’t mention it. Bess is a good kid, so’s Rose, so it’s the least I can do.”  
“How long was I out?”  
“A few days.”  
“Days?!”  
“Yeah, three I think. That old priest said it’s a miracle you survived at all, so I’d call that a blessing.”  
She sighs heavily. “A blessing indeed.”  
Asariel thinks to herself, 

“But regardless, we still have some folks downstairs who really want to see you.”  
Henry hands Asariel a pair of crutches and they make their way downstairs.  
Awaiting the warrior is a group of familiar faces and one not-so-familiar face: Rose, Simdi, and… Bess… along with a middle-aged Dwarven gentleman in the uniform of a city guard. Rose and Bess rush up and hug her, Simdi smiling at her and patiently waiting for the two kids to let go. “Go easy on her, young’uns, she looks about ready to crumble at this point.”  
“I can still kick your ass, Simdi, don’t you worry.” Asariel smirks.  
“I’ll take your word for it, Lion.”  
“Fair enough.”  
The city guard stands up from his chair and approaches as they’re talking. “Excuse me, Madam. My name is Sergeant Cliff Cartwright of the Hakori City Guard. You’ve done a great service to this city by stopping that ritual from occurring, and the city thanks you. I’ve been informed that you were already paid by Brogden Forcett, but the city would like to award you something as well.” Cliff hands her a small token with the symbol of a roaring lion’s head, the symbol of the Vrumanir. A guildmaster’s seal. “Congratulations, Commander Asariel, of the Vrumanir Mercenary Company.”  
With that Sergeant Cartwright takes his leave, Bess following shortly after. Asariel takes a seat, and Rose comes up to her. “Hey, Asariel.”  
Asariel gulps nervously. “Hey, Rose. How’s the recovery going?”  
“Pretty good, you certainly helped with that. Thank you for saving my life... and for telling me not to risk it any further.”  
“It’s no problem. Sorry for… everything.”  
“... it’s okay. I was the one who chose to come along, and it’s best that we parted ways when we did.”  
“Thanks. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say to you that would convince you to leave this life behind, but you saw what it did to me. You still wanna be a Northolder?”  
“I have to. For my home, for my family.”  
“I can’t argue with that. Well, I wish you luck, and if you ever need a mercenary, you know where to find me. I don’t know if you heard, but I’m officially legit in the eyes of the city.”  
“Yeah, that’s… cool. And I’ll absolutely come to you for help if I ever need it. I’m just not signing one of those Contracts.”  
“Knowing you, Rose, I think I’ll settle for a handshake. Good luck, kiddo.”  
“You too, old-timer. I’ll see you around.”  
“Seeya.”  
With that Rose leaves Asariel sitting alone at her table, and Simdi sits down next to her. “So, a Commander once again, eh, Asariel?”  
“It’s not exactly the same, but I hope it’s a start.”  
“I’m sure it will be, you always were pretty good at getting people to follow you.”  
“Yeah, back when I was a holy warrior of Saint Hakon. I don’t know how successful I’ll be now that I’m on my own doing it.”  
There’s a long pause. “Why did you run? I thought maybe you’d gone soft on me, but I heard about what you did down there, and even if it wasn’t necessarily sane, those certainly weren’t the actions of a coward.”  
“It’s one thing to leap into the fray yourself, knowing that you won't survive, it’s a lot harder to make the call when you’re doing it for everyone around you as well. I just never felt like it was my decision to make.”  
“Well, I guess I can understand that. And if it helps, I promise that if you make the wrong call, I will gladly call you on it if no one else does. I don’t follow dumbasses when I can help it.”  
“What do you mean?”  
Simdi stands up, beckoning their soldiers to come forth “I spoke with my troops while you were out and we agreed: you’re a reckless idiot, and if you’re gonna stay alive long enough to do the good things you’re capable of, we’d better be there to rein you in on your more foolhardy campaigns, or at least make sure to bail you out once you’re in over your head. Also we’re a group of elite warriors once tasked with guarding one of the greatest collections of arcane knowledge in the world and you’d be lucky to have us, but that’s beside the point. What do you say, Commander? Let’s forget about old broken relics, and build ourselves a new future with the Vrumanir?”  
Asariel pauses for a moment, a little surprised at her former rival’s willingness to fall under her command. Then she smiles “Here I was thinking I was an old, broken relic. Very well. Welcome to the Vrumanir, Lieutenant Simdi. Welcome to the Company, everyone!”  
With that, the evening starts. The Vrumanir, now thirteen in number, spend the day drinking, singing, and trading stories. Their purpose would be made clear soon, but for now they were just happy to be together.


End file.
